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more than just a pair of spurs

I finally cleaned out the garage. There was a specific thing I was looking for as I cleaned and tossed out all the junk we've collected over the last 7 years in this house. 
Enzo's spurs. 

I knew they were in a box somewhere in the garage. So I opened every dirt covered plastic tub in that garage. There were a lot of them.
I finally found the spurs and set them aside. Then, I saw Enzo's handwriting at the bottom of the bin & it startled me. I wasn't expecting anything but the spurs. So I kept digging. 

I discovered more inside that tub than I was ready to handle. 
His high school diploma
A few awards from high school
A card I gave him
A note I wrote him 
And a journal he kept August thru October of 2019

Inside that journal are pictures he drew, his dreams for the future, his hopes and aspirations, several lists of things he was thankful for, and he even wrote out his idea of the perfect morning (it includes an Irish cream latte).

I finished the garage and took the journal (and some vodka) to my barn and read every word. Well, every word I could read. That boy had absolutely horrible handwriting. 
But I could read most of it. And it's beautiful. 

It's a gift. And the timing couldn't be more... timely. Four days away from Thanksgiving. 

*
Thanksgiving is the most difficult holiday for me since Enzo's death. The first Thanksgiving Enzo spent with us after we left houseparenting, was the holiday that we truly became family. He cried. No, he wept. He wept like I've never seen anyone weep. 
In our hallway on the day we were taking him back home after spending several days with us, he wept openly and hugged me like I've never been hugged before. 
He thanked me and said "this is what I've always wanted. These last few days showed me what a family really is."
I told him, in the most admonishing tone I could muster with all my tears and my voice catching, that he always had a place in our home. 
He looked at me. 
"I want you as my Mom."
"Then I'm your Mom." 
And that was it. We had a son. End of discussion. We spent several years and many later conversations talking about that Thanksgiving and what it meant to him and us. 
*

So now, just 4 days before the 2nd Thanksgiving without him, I find his journal. 
While it's mostly an empty journal and only a couple of months are recorded, it's given me so much. It's given me Enzo. 

For a few moments as I read this journal, it feels like we're having one of those conversations that only Enzo could have with me. 
I found more than a pair of spurs in the garage. And I can be ok with that for a long time. 

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